


New Rituals

by littlesprouts



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Abuse, Drinking, Drugs, I'm in the stanchez pit and can't get out, M/M, Marijuana, Smoking, Violence, Weed, all in all it's just very gay, and god knows what else, awkward teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesprouts/pseuds/littlesprouts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan didn't get kicked out after the science project incident -at least not yet. He failed his exams and has to remain in high school while Ford goes off to college. Home is miserable but Stan spends most of his days driving around or at Rick's place anyway. And soon most of his nights too...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

There was something electronically-looking in the soap dish.

 

It looked like a circuit board with a huge cylinder glued to it. Stan dried his hands on a stolen towel with an embroidered hotel emblem on it and picked up the piece.

'Pines what the hell is taking you so long? Are you jerking off in there or w-what'

Stan unlocked the bathroom door, holding up the thing to the skinny boy in front of him.

'What's that?'

Rick frowned, taking it from him.

'An inductor' he answered and turned around.

'It's to alternate current' he added, saying it over his shoulder as he went into the next room to put it down on an enormous desk where several pieces were already lined up next to what looked like the remains of a radio.

'It was really close to the water. Isn't that dangerous?' Stan asked as he followed him.

'It's always dangerous for strangers to touch my stuff.'

Stan rolled his eyes.

 

Rick's shabby apartment was filled with stuff like this; different parts covered his desk, the window sills, the kitchen counter -hell, there were more screwdrivers in the drawers than spoons.

But it was tidy; every room was cluttered, but it was organized clutter.

Organized in a way that Rick kept screws in labeled boxes, not in a way that kept him from storing spools of soldering tin next to toast.

Everything had it's place and Rick knew exactly where everything was.

Him misplacing the inductor should have been a clue to Stan that something was off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe the time I spent researching the engines and safety conditions of vintage american economy-priced cars for these few lines

 

'We gotta go. I told him I'd be there at ei-eight. Your car.'

Rick's car, a Corvair, had broken down for the fourth time this week and he hadn't gotten around to fix it yet. From the outside it looked like it belonged in a junkyard -and on the inside it looked like one.

It leaked oil like a grounded tanker and you couldn't turn the heating on without getting dizzy from the fumes being pumped into the cabin.

So Stan didn't even protest and simply fished for the keys in his pockets.

 

Stan on the other hand loved his car and he barked a 'Hey!' at Rick as he slammed the door getting in.

'Vamos!' he just replied, tapping his watchless wrist.

 

It was an evening in late august, the wind coming from the rolled down windows was still warm. Rick gave directions from the passenger seat and the dashboard clock showed three minutes to eight when he told Stan to pull over to the side of the road.

'It's that s-shop over there. W-won't take long.' His voice was casual but he held his shoulders just a bit too angular. He got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

'Fuck you!' Stan yelled, leaning out of the window. Rick flipped him off and kept walking but Stan was sure he was grinning. That bastard.

 

Nearly quarter past eight.

Stan started to get nervous. How long could it take to exchange money for some weed? He turned on the radio only to turn it off again almost immediately.

He thrummed a beat on the steering wheel.

Five minutes later he had taken the key out of the ignition. With it and his house key poking out between the knuckles of his right hand, he got out of the car.

In this moment the door of the shop opened and Rick strolled out, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans.

He didn't look at Stan until he arrived at the car; he met his eyes across the roof.

'Let's just get high.'

He got in and closed the door gently.

 


	3. Chapter 3

They didn't do any talking on the way back.

At one point Stan put on the radio; Rick didn't like the same music as him but this time he didn't complain. In return Stan didn't say anything when Rick propped up one leg on the dashboard and put his other foot on the seat.

 

Entering the flat they still hadn't spoken a word. Rick was sporting his usual slouch again and his expression was neutral, except for maybe a stern line around his mouth.

Rick went into the bedroom and Stan indecisively stood in the hall, then sat down on the battered old couch.

'Pines. Catch.'

A small bag flew through the air and Stan caught it in front of his face.

'You got papers?'

'Yeah.'

Stan started rolling the joint, glad to have something to do. He dampened the paper with his spit and Rick let himself fall next to him. He held out his arms, holding up the two bottles of beer to not to spill any and handed one of them to Stan. He pulled a matchbox out of his pockets and put it between them.

'You can have the first drag' he said generously, taking a gulp.

Stan put the beer on the floor next to his feet and lit the joint. He held the smoke in for what felt like ages, then breathed out slowly. He leaned back and passed the joint to Rick.

After a while Stan got up to get more beer while Rick rolled a new one.

 

It got dark outside and the silence between them was comfortable again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, the day is ending but the story sure isn't; I'm probably gonna upload the next chapter tomorrow~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I swe-swear to god. Stanley Pines you're not gonna s-sleep on this fucking couch for the rest of the night'

Stan woke up from the record player's arm returning to its home next to the platter with a soft 'click'.  
The static ended and it was silent except for the faint snoring of the boy next to him.

 

 

At some point of the night Rick had insisted on showing him his newest musical discovery. Stan liked the guitar parts but disliked the screaming -you really couldn't call this noise singing. But on the B side there was a slower song that was almost melodic. Almost.

'This isn't as shit as the rest' Stan said tiredly. Rick gave a noncommittal grunt, his eyes were closed and he was sunk against the backrest of the furniture.

Stan could feel the warmth of the body next to him which was... comforting somehow.

 

 

The greasy leather of the couch was stuck to his skin.

His neck hurt. Also his shoulders. One of his feet had fallen asleep, it stung as he tried to move his toes.

They were both curled up on the small sofa. Rick's right arm was draped across Stan's chest, his own leg looked huge between the skinnier ones.

With hot ears Stan tried to get up without disturbing the sleeper. He almost succeeded.

Another almost.

'Mierda' Rick groaned and started moving. 'Ow. My spine is ki-killing me'

Stan's face was burning and he was glad it was still dark enough in the room.

Rick sat up and stretched his back.

'Alright, let's go to bed.'

He got up and crossed the room, stopping at the door.

'Stan what the fuck are you doing'

Stan had sat back down again.

'Stan you're over six feet tall'

'It's okay! Really! But do you have, like, a blanket somewh-'

'I swe-swear to _god._ Stanley Pines you're not gonna s-sleep on this fucking couch for the rest of the night'

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never thought writing fluff could be worse than reading fluff   
> but here it is! watch out for awkward soppy stuff, spooning ensues

 

Stan had spent countless hours in Rick's flat -but he had never been to his bedroom before.

He was expecting a narrow bed, like his own at home but this was as big as his parent's.

Without turning on the light Rick went over and let himself plummet onto the left side of the mattress. Stan lay down on the other side and pulled the cool sheets up to his chest.

 

The lay facing each other; Rick had already shoved his face into the pillow so Stan closed his eyes too.

He wasn't tired anymore and listening to the other boy's breathing made everything between his ribcage and navel feel twisted and also ...warm. He tried to relax his muscles but he couldn't shake the tension. Rick was probably long asleep.

  
After some time he finally began to feel sleepy and his mind slowed down.

From very far away he could hear the rustling sheets as Rick moved around; probably dreaming, Stan thought.  
The next moment he yelped and sat up so quickly his vision was blurry as he turned to the other side of the bed.

'FUCKING _HELL_ , RICK?!'

But Rick just snickered from across the mattress.

He had bridged the distance between them and pressed his cold bare feet against Stan's shins.

Stan reached over to punch him but by now he was laughing too.  
There was a quick scuffle when Rick tried to land a swing at Stan's jaw and he grabbed his skinny wrists in defense which resulted in him getting kicked into the side.

Stan groaned and collapsed next to the still cackling Rick.

'Bastard' he grumbled.  
He had let go of Rick's wrists but his arms were still slung around him from the back.

Were they... hugging? This could probably be considered hugging.

  
Boys weren't supposed to hug other boys.

 

Stan felt his face flush again and began to pull his arms away.

A cautious hand on his underarm made him stop in the movement.

 

'Actually... I kinda like this' Rick mumbled.

'You uncomfortable?'

'N-no' Stan stuttered.

His face was burning hot, his heart beating painfully against his ribcage.

His own blood was loud in his ears and he felt like he was breathing really loudly. He tried to control his short breath but after a minute he only felt like he might black out.

Rick's hand was still on his arm, now he began stroking the underside of Stan's wrist with an -if only slightly- trembling thumb. Stan felt the little hairs stand up but his racing heart slowed down a bit.

Rick relaxed against him and with time Stan loosened his muscles too.

After a while they got comfortable in the position, though Stan's thoughts were still a mess.

He pushed his right arm under the pillow so Rick could rest his head on it.

His finger was still tracing circles on Stan's skin -which made him try something brave.

He inched closer, wrapping his left arm tightly around the other boy's slim chest. His loose fist against his ribs he could feel Rick's heartbeat -to his surprise it was even faster than his own.

Rick put his own hand over Stan's, keeping it where it was. There was something defiant in this gesture.

 

They lay like this and Stan thought that he'd never be able to sleep now when he felt his eyelids get heavy a third and final time that night.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is where the tags 'violence' and 'abuse' come into play  
> it's not much but be careful if you're sensitive to these things

Stan woke up alone.

Rick was sitting at his desk in the next room, tinkering around with a toaster.

'Morning' Stan mumbled.

'M-morning' Rick replied without looking up.

Stan went into the bathroom and drank some water from the tap, trying to get rid of the taste in his mouth. Were they going to address -whatever that was? Stan sure as hell wasn't going to start this conversation.

When Stan came back Rick had cleared some of the toaster parts away to make room for two chipped mugs.

'Coffee?'

'Uh, yeah, thanks' Stan eyed the mess of screws and heating wire on the table. His stomach grumbled.  
He sat down in Rick's chair and watched him make coffee using a porcelain filter without a handle. Rick pushed the first mug towards Stan.   
He knew better than to ask for milk; he had rummaged through Rick's fridge enough times to know it usually only contained some bottles of cooled beer and a handful of batteries. Plus the odd bottle of maple syrup -Stan felt it was safer not to ask what for.

While taking small sips of his burning hot coffee Stan went over to the record player and picked up the case of yesterday night's LP, searching for the only song he had liked on it. It was the eighth song on the B-side. 'Rituals' he read.  
He finished his coffee, ignoring his protesting stomach and put both case and mug down.

'Uhm, better get going, I guess' he said from the door frame.

'See ya 'round, Pines.'

 

Stan drove home with his guts in a tight knot.  
Probably from drinking black coffee on an empty stomach, he told himself. This was the same excuse he had for his weak knees.

He parked across from the cafe next door, the smell wavering out of it made his stomach rumble once more.

Stan fumbled with his keys and shoved the right one into the lock of the backdoor -before he could turn it the door was yanked open from the inside.  
A fist shot into his field of vision and seized the front of his jacket. He was pulled inside and thrown against the staircase leading up to the first floor, his back chafing painfully against the edge of the steps. Stan struggled to get up quickly but a left hook sent him back down again.

'You think you can just sneak in here after not coming home for _days_?'

His father towered above him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ford is mentioned; again, watch out for violence and abuse

Stan slammed the bedroom door shut and shot the bolt. He could hear his father yelling behind the wood but he didn't try to get in. The splintered edges of the frame spoke of the times when he did.

Stan had bought the latch himself.

The first of many ones after a day in fourth grade when Ford had forgotten to take out the trash.

Staring at the flaky paint Stan saw his father tearing open the door again and grabbing his brother who was laying on the bed, engrossed in a book.

Screaming Stan had tried to get a hold of his fathers arms which only resulted in catching some blows himself.

It wasn't the first time he beat up Stan but up to this evening he had never hit Ford.

The next day Stan took the bus to the hardware store after school, the contents of the sock he kept hidden in the back of his closet rattling in his pockets.

 

He violently shook his head to get rid of the pictures and went over to lie down on his saggy mattress.

Flinching, he carefully leaned his back against the wall and looked around.

When Ford had moved out it was the first time in his life Stan had his own room.

Now a sheetless bed and some pale rectangles on the yellowing wallpaper where his twin's posters had hung were the only traces of their shared childhood.

 

Stan waited until his parents went to bed, then snuck downstairs into the kitchen. He didn't dare to leave his room the whole day and god, he was starving.

Back upstairs he tried to sleep but every time he closed his eyes the pictures arose anew.

His father, red faced and with raised fists. The look on Ford's face after the science fair. A summer's day in sixth grade when he took on five boys at once after noticing Ford walking with a limp. His mother stroking his hair and calling him her 'little free spirit' but never helping him when her husband took out his aggression on him. Ford leaving for college after days of silence between them, leaving him behind.

And in contrast, pictures of Rick. Them aimlessly driving around in Stan's car, windows down. Drinking beers in parking lots. The couch.   
The _bed_...

 

Stan grabbed the keys from the upside down cardboard box that functioned as his nightstand.

 

Rick opened the door after Stan had rung for the third time.

He registered how Rick's gaze rested on his black eye for a second.

'Boxing practice' Stan mumbled.

Rick only stepped aside and Stan pushed past him, his eyes directed at the dirty floor tiles.

 

Stan stopped in the middle of the room and stood there with hunched shoulders, then turning around suddenly.

'Listen, can I crash on your couch tonight?'

Rick frowned, his eyes heavy with sleep got even narrower.

'You wanna talk about it?'

'NO.' Stan said determined and maybe a little bit too fast.

'Stan...' Rick began.

'Rick can I crash here or not' Stan barked.

'Geez Stan, since when do you have to ask?' he gave back, looking angry.

_Well done Stan. Come on, ruin this too._

'Thanks' he answered brusquely. Then he burrowed his face in his hands.

'Sorry.'

He bit his lower lip and let out a shaky breath.

_Pathetic._

This right here was the only thing he had managed to not screw up.  
_Not yet._

 

He felt a pair of skinny arms encompassing him. Stan let his own arms fall down and returned the hug.

_Boys aren't supposed to hug other boys._

Rick smelled of sleep.

 

'You're not go-gonna cry on my shoulder now, are you' Rick asked after they stood like this for a while, his voice muffled by Stan's shirt.

Stan snorted and pushed him away.

'Rick Sanchez, you're such a pain in the ass' he said, trying to hold back a grin and failing.

'So I have been told' he said calmly. 'But you're the one turning up on my doorstep at three in the fucking morning.'

'Sorry' Stan repeated but Rick only waved his hand.

'Soo... you gonna come with?' he nodded into the direction of the bedroom.

Stan turned red up to the roots of his hair -and nodded.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had never been a chance of staying just friends.

**shit you guys I started writing this again... expect an update in the next days? maybe???**

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of fanfiction I ever wrote so any feedback is very welcome! Also English isn't my first language so if you find some things that seem off, please don't hesitate to tell me.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the read, I'll update as regularly as possible.


End file.
